Macabre Puppet Show
by Kiwi Anime
Summary: Oh no. Our beloved characters, now puppets in a horrific puppet show called...A BAD FANFICTION! AAAHHH! All flames will pretty much be ignored. Rated for Roger's naughty language when he gets mad. Will continue!


A/N: If I receive flames because of this fic, it's only because said flamer is the very thing I am protesting against. ;)

.-.-.

**Macabre Puppet Show**

_The lights come up on an empty stage. A massive hand comes out of nowhere, placing random pieces of furniture on the stage until the scenery represents the infamous loft. There is a moment of pause, and two puppets fall down from the fly space: Mark and Roger. They have annoying thin strings around their wrists and ankles and neck that come from the same fly space they just fell down from._

Mark was lying peacefully in his bed, thinking about how he didn't want to get up and have to face another annoying day in New York City. Suddenly, he felt a cutting sensation behind his neck as something pulled him up. Immediately wide awake, Mark realized there was a thin chord around his neck. "What the FUCK?"

A groggy Roger stirred from the couch, looking over at his roommate. "What?" He blinked a few times, holding up his hands, observing the strings attached to his wrists. "What the...?"

Mark raised one of his hands, yanking on the string tied around his neck. He could hear a soft giggling somewhere above him, but he had no idea where it was coming from. He turned to face Roger, slowly getting out of bed, becoming quite aware of the strings around his ankles. "Roger, what the fuck is going on?"

Roger shrugged. "Beats me." There was a stunned silence, and then Roger spontaneously buries his face in his hands. "Oh, shit. We're stuck in another fan-fiction."

Mark couldn't suppress his own groan. "Shit. Last time we had to do one of these, I ended up making out with you." There was a stunned silence during which the two stared blankly ahead, and then both of them shuddered simultaneously at the revolting memory.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang throughout the loft. "O-M-G, so, like, I'm the author, RentHeadWhoHasNoRespectForTheCharactersAndTheirIntergrity! And I'm writing a new fan-fiction! Like, YAY!"

Mark and Roger groaned simultaneously as Mark said under his breath, "Shit, one of these."

"So, like, I always thought Mark needed a new girlfriend! So YEAH!"

Mark looked up suddenly. "Wait-WHAT? I just got DUMPED by my last girlfriend because she went lesbo! SHUT UP," he shouted at Roger as he broke into hysterical laughter.

"But, like, I don't care that Mark is a secluded artist who obviously still can't get over Maureen..."

"I resent that!"

"...so I'm making a NEW character that is going to be so perfect and Mark's going to fall in love with her!"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "I am?" He paused for a second when there was no reply from the loud and annoying voice. "Do I have any say in this matter at all?"

Roger was still laughing quite hard. "Man, it so sucks to be you. You have to do all the stupid shit in these fanfictions."

"But, like, I think Mark and Roger are sooooo cute together," the voice said, causing both roommates to stop short, "so I'm going to kill off Mimi so that Mark can comfort Roger and we can have some slash action!"

Mark jumped up immediately. "NO WAY!" He tried to run out of the loft, but the strings attached to the various points in his body jerked him back, dragging him back so he sat on the couch next to Roger as said songwriter began to mumble incoherently, muttering something about what kind of sick and demented mind would kill off his love so that he could make out with his best friend (which he would never do, by the way).

The annoyingly high-pitched voice rang out again. "So, like, at the start of the fic, Mimi's already dead."

"WHAT!" Roger jumped up immediately, but the strings somehow pulled him back, causing him to fall back onto the couch. "MIMI! DAMMIT, YOU MOTHERF-"

"Oh, no swearing! I don't like language."

Mark blinked a few times, trying to get over the fact that his best friend's girlfriend was suddenly dead and think at the same time. "Why do you even like RENT if you don't like language? In case you haven't noticed, in the musical, there are about six 'f bombs' in the first act..."

There was a silence for a moment, during which the confused author tried to think up an excuse for her reasoning. Since there was obviously no possible reason for this, she simply continued as if Mark hadn't even said anything. "Also, Mark, you have to suddenly open up immediately to this girl your about to meet, OK? You have to reveal all your darkest secrets to her by Chapter Five, or else I won't be able to move the 'action' along fast enough and I won't get any good reviews!"

Mark blinked a few times in confused silence, finally speaking after he had processed what she had said. "Excuse me, I'm not exactly sure I WANT to open up to somebody I'll have only known for four chapters, you know? Heck, I don't even like opening up to my friends I've known for YEARS!"

Roger sighed. "She's the author. It's her purpose in life to mess us up completely."

Mark shrugged. "True."

The author took no notice of this, continuing. "OK, Mark, get up."

The strings around Mark's wrists suddenly jerked upwards, and Mark was pulled up. Mark immediately tried to resist. "Oh, no! I'm not going down without a fight!" He continued to resist, but unfortunately his pathetic arm strength was nothing compared to the immense strength of the strings, and he gave up, muttering as he willingly stood up completely.

"You too, Roger." Soon, something of similar events proceeded to repeat itself in Roger's case, only this time it lasted a little longer, Roger having a little more arm strength than Mark. In the end, Roger too was forced to stand.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. Mark made to go and answer it, but the strings yanked him back. Mark gave a long, annoyed sigh. "Hello! Can I go and answer the door?"

"No, not until I tell you to! OK...There was a loud knock at the door."

Roger was grumbling, trying to reach his guitar but unable to because of the strings keeping him just out of reach. "We already passed that part, idiot."

"Oh, yeah. So...Mark walked over to the door." As the strings pulled roughly at his wrists, Mark walked over to the door, muttering that he could go over to the door without the chords nearly cutting his hands off. He opened the door, blinking a few times before he realized who it was.

"...What the fuck? Angel?"

"AHEM! No language!"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Sorry. What the _hell_. Angel? I thought you...uhh...you know..."

The author described the situation in her annoying voice as Angel stood there, looking quite annoyed, constrained by strings very similar to Mark and Roger's. "Angel stood there in a stunning red dress..."

Angel was muttering, "First you bring me back from the dead, which is pretty impossible, hon, and THEN you make me wear this out-of-season red dress?" She smirked, however, as if communicating to Mark silently that she had everything under control, although Mark couldn't quite understand how.

The author continued. "...accompanied by her compassionate lover, Collins."

Mark looked over Angel's shoulder, just noticing Collins behind her, smiling. He said with a smirk, "Hear that? 'Compassionate lover'."

Roger shrugged, trying to sit down on the couch now but unable to because of the strings holding him up. "Too bad this author's not giving you any more emotional depth."

Collins stuttered. "What!"

The author had to take a break from her poor description to explain to her pawns in her devious plan to infest the once grand pages of RENT fanfics with poor quality garbage. "Well, you see, you don't really do that much stuff that's really interesting, so I'm cutting you out after this scene."

This made Collins stutter a little more. "M-M-Me? But I'm just as important as everybody else! Does nobody want to read fics about me?"

Roger shrugged again. "Either that or the authors are just too lazy."

"I'd go with the latter as opposed to the former," Mark threw over his shoulder.

The author, RentHeadWhoHasNoRespectForTheCharactersAndTheirIntergrity, continued. "Collins and Angel were both choked with tears. Mark blinked, concerned at his dear friends' looks. He knew something was wrong. Roger even paused playing his guitar from the couch..." There was a very audible 'yes!' from Roger as he suddenly appeared on the couch, guitar in hand, as he began to pluck out a tune on the guitar. The tune quickly changed, however, as the strings began to cleverly manipulate his hands so that he began playing Musseta's Waltz, as Roger muttered that he didn't only play that song and the author continued. "...from the couch to exclaim in a concerned tone..."

"What's wrong?" Roger said this with a very sour tone, obviously annoyed at the author from restraining him from playing a new song he had been dying to try out.

"No, no, no. I said in a concerned tone! Try again."

Roger glared up at the ceiling, not knowing where else to glare at, and then said, through gritted teeth, "What's wrong."

"Close enough." The author was way too happy that Mimi had died, in Mark's opinion. "Angel got choked up, almost unable to continue as she accepted a handkerchief from Collins."

Angel was not crying, not did she looked choked up. She snatched the cloth from Collins as the string around his wrist offered the small cloth. Angel muttered something about not being such a wimp like people made her out to be before exclaiming, "I don't find it sad that you just killed a sweetie like Meems. I find it quite annoying. Therefore, I am not crying."

Suddenly, a massive hand appeared out of mid-air, holding a water gun. It shot a stream straight at Angel, drenching her in second. Angel staggered briefly, trying to hold off the sudden surge of water uselessly with the handkerchief. Once the water had cleared and the hand disappeared, Angel looked no sadder than she did before. In fact, she looked much more annoyed. She shouted up at the ceiling. "I can walk right out of this fanfiction, you know! I don't have to stand for this bullshit!"

"No swearing," cried out the annoying voice.

Angel muttered a long stream of Spanish curses, wrenching suddenly on the strings holding her wrists. They snapped immediately, and with a few quick kicks the chords around her ankles had snapped as well. With a satisfied smirk, she marched right out, her heels clicking loudly as she disappeared from view.

The author was left silent, obviously stunned, as Mark, Roger, and Collins proceeded to break down into laughter, Mark doubled over, clutching his stomach, Collins leaning on the doorway for support, pounding the wooden structure with his fist as he laughed, Roger nearly falling off the couch. Unfortunately, the three were only able to enjoy themselves for a few seconds, as suddenly the harsh chords yanked them back into their original positions. Mark wiped away a tear before speaking inbetween his laughter. "Looks like that messed up your plans..."

Roger was shaking his head, still laughing. "Always knew Angel would be the one to break those fucking strings." This only caused the three to laugh even more, not stopping when the strings yanked them back into position.

The author was obviously quite stunned. "Okay...uh...change of plans. Angel isn't alive...so Collins gets to tell the news about Mimi dying alone."

Roger looked up suddenly, obviously very shocked. "Wait...I'm not going to be with Mimi when she dies!"

There was another silence, and then the author continued. "Well...you didn't feel good, so you had to come home. No, no! You couldn't stand to see her, so Mark helped you home as she was taken to the hospital."

Both Mark and Roger blinked for a few moments. Mark was the first to speak up. "I really don't think Roger would have left Mimi."

"Well...uh...secretly, he wanted to be with _you_, so that you could comfort him! Then we had that awesome slash action! Right?"

Roger looked up at the ceiling indignantly. "Hell no! I wouldn't leave Mimi if you gave me a million bucks!" (Mark was conveniently remaining silent, quite shocked at the thought of having 'slash action' with his best friend.)

"Well, like, you left anyways."

"Oh, yeah? Who says I have to!" Roger was getting _very_ annoyed at this point.

"Me."

"Shit."

"OK, so Collins was all choked up, and he said, his voice shaking..."

Collins rolled his eyes, not appreciating the fact he was suddenly being thrown back into this. "Mimi died." (Obviously, his voice was not shaking, since he was saying this through gritted teeth.)

Roger was glaring straight ahead at nothing in particular. "Collins, the bitch up there already told us."

"No language!"

Roger stood up again, shaking a fist at the ceiling. "IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR STUPID NO LANGUAGE, I'LL..." Mark pulled him back down, knowing what very horrible things the author was capable of if she got too annoyed.

They could all hear a 'tutting' sound as the author clicked her tongue annoyingly as if they were children that had all just done a very bad thing. "Oh, you all need to calm down. Anyways...Roger leaped up suddenly," (Roger did so, thanks to the rough jerk of the chords around his wrists) "completely stunned. After a moment of stunned silence, he fell back onto the couch, sobbing uncontrollably, his face buried in his hands."

"I _refuse_ to 'sob uncontrollably'. I won't give you that pleasure," Roger grumbled, his teeth threatening to grind into powder as he grinded his teeth together viciously as he was pulled back into the couch. "And if you even think of bringing out that fucking water gun..."

RentHeadWhoHasNoRespectForTheCharactersAndTheirIntergrity simply continued her assault on the integrity of the amazing characters. "Mark, eager to rush and comfort the songwriter in his moment of need, embraced him in a tight hug."

"HELL NO." Mark had his arms crossed. "Angel can stand up to you, I can stand up to you."

"Angel had the strength and rage of a rampant bull," Collins muttered under his breath, but Mark didn't listen to him, refusing to give in. Unfortunately, Collins' remark had much truth in it; the strings around Mark's wrists pulled his arms apart and basically threw him onto Roger, pulling Mark's arms so that he was holding Roger quite tightly.

Both of them grumbled as Mark continued to attempt to let go of Roger. They were both silent. Finaly, Roger spoke. "I can't BELIEVE that bitch killed Mimi..."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Hopefully the next one will be a little different."

"_Hopefully_ being the key word there," Roger grumbled back.

Either the author seriously didn't comprehend what her characters were talking about, or she really couldn't hear them. Either way, she continued. "Mark spoke softly in Roger's ear..."

"GOD, this is stupid." ("Great comeback," Roger mumbled at Mark under his breath.)

"Ahem. Mark, the line is, 'Don't worry, Roger. It'll be OK."

Mark glared up at the ceiling, still trying to pull himself free of the strings. "Like hell it'll be OK. You killed off Mimi, and you're forcing me to fall in love with a girl when I'm perfectly fine how I am."

"Mark, if you don't cooperate, I'm going to have to –"

"DONTWORRYROGERITLLBEOK." Mark said it so quickly in his hurry to avoid whatever the author was going to have to do it became one incoherent string of words.

"Thank you. Ok...Mark pulled away from Roger," ("THANK YOU," both Mark and Roger exclaimed as Mark finally pulled away,) "unsure of how to comfort Roger. He couldn't stand to see him in such pain. Collins..." ("Oh, shit, now I'm back in the story," Collins grumbled under his breath,) "silently left the two of them, shutting the door behind him as he left."

"YES!" Collins happily began to do a demented sort of dance as Mark and Roger glared at him. "HAHA!" He then began to sing in synchronization with his giddy dance, "I get to le-eave! I get to le-eave! I get to le-"

"Just SHUT IT, Collins." Mark was clenching his fists tightly, obviously restraining himself from attacking the college professor.

Collins laughed a bit more, before taking the door handle happily. Just before he shut the door, he said, "Good luck! You're gonna need it!" just before shutting the door. Mark and Roger were left at the mercy of the vicious author.

"Oh, shit..." Mark turned to face Roger, whose face was red with rage. "Shit, shit, shit...Rog, you know what comes next..."

Roger's face suddenly went pale. "Oh, shit."

Suddenly, both had jumped into a long string of pleas. "NO, PLEASE!" "IT'S JUST WRONG!" "PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THE SLASH!" "IT'S SO FUCKING WRONG!" "AT LEAST FINISH THE FIC BEFORE WE DO SOMETHING SICK!" "IT'S JUST SO, FUCKING _WRONG!_"

"Roger, if you say the 'f word' one more time, I'm going to have to punish you."

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! Oh, yeah. _FUCK!_"

"That's it. I'm going to have some FUN slash now."

Both Mark and Roger began trembling, half from rage, half from something like fear. Both of them said, at the exact same time, "Oh, shit."


End file.
